The Orange Pill Bottle
by Miss Kells Bells
Summary: Tate and Violet have a heart to heart about his mental health. Somehow a mix between hurt/comfort and fluff. Probably takes places toward the end of the Pilot, before Tate scares Violets off. One shot.


**Disclaimer: American Horror Story was created by Ryan Murphy and is owned by FX. I own nothing.**

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"Can I tell you a secret?" Tate asked. He sat crosslegged on Violet's bed while she sat on a swivel chair in front of her desk. She scrolled through web pages on her laptop. The room had been quiet, save for the music blasting through Violet's iPod dock, since Tate entered many minutes before and said hello, but it was a comfortable silence. That was the nice thing about Tate and Violet's relationship, they didn't always need to talk. They were comfortable just being around each other.

Violet spun her seat around and faced Tate. "What?"

The look on Tate's face made the secret seem so juicy.

Tate fished a bottle of pills out from his pockets. The casing was orange and the label was prescribed to him. "I haven't been taking my meds."

Violet looked at him, surprised. She didn't know what she was expecting but it certainly wasn't that. Maybe some sick, twisted story about his mother. Tate seemed to have serious issues with her.

"What the fuck, Tate?" She stood up and grabbed the bottle from him. It was his alright. Prescribed by her father weeks ago and feeling very full. "Why are you in therapy if your not trying to get better?"

Tate shrugged. He folded his hands in his lap and looked away from her like a child who just got his hand caught in the cookie jar. But this was a lot more serious than eating sweets before dinner.

Violet rubbed her temples. She didn't know why Tate was seeing her father. He wouldn't tell her. But the look he gave her when she asked told her it was about something serious. She tossed the bottle back to him. He caught it and placed it by his side on the bed.

"Just take your meds."

"I don't want to."

"Why the fuck not?"

He shrugged again.

"Tate. Tate look at me."

Tate fiddled with Violet's fleece blanket. She took steps closer to the bed and yanked the blanket out of his hands. As he fought to hold on he looked up and Violet could see his redden eyes fill with water wanting to escape. She let go.

"Tate." This time she said his name with compassion instead of anger. She sat down next to him on the bed and pulled him into a hug. A small sob escaped him but then he pulled away from her.

"Why don't you want to take your medication?" Violet asked once more.

Tate situated his body on the bed so that they were facing each other and he was staring into her eyes. "I want the bad thoughts to go away. I do. But I'm scared the rest of me, my personality, will go away too."

Tate had never been so open with Violet before. So vulnerable. She reached forward and placed her hand on his shoulder. He was trembling slightly.

"I'd hate to lose you. You're really important to me."

"That's why I can't take those pills."

Violet shook her head. "Tate you're sick. You have to give them a try. If these don't work maybe others will. Please, I want you to get better." The mention of "the bad thoughts" scared Violet. There was a reason Tate was seeing her father and why he thought these pills were necessary. "Please, for me?"

Tate looked at the pill bottle beside him. He sighed. "Fine." He opened it and took out a pill. He stared at it for a long time. He really didn't want to take it. He looked up at Violet. She had pleading eyes. He closed his eyes, put the pill in his mouth and swallowed.

"Thank you." Violet leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him while she nuzzled her head into his chest. He rested his head on hers. She didn't know if the pills would end up helping him, Hell she didn't even know what was wrong with him, but she felt better knowing he was at least doing something to get better. And for that she planted a kiss on his cheek.

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